


You Play With Water, You Get Wet

by chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, No chills found, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Showers, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jemma walks in on Fitz in the shower and takes her sweet time walking away, he decides to seek revenge and do the same to her.<br/>This plan backfires fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Play With Water, You Get Wet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grapehyasynth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/gifts).



> Sections of this story were posted before in my "Mini Bites" drabbles series -most of this work is a sequel to a sequel to a 300 words drabble. I don't get it either.  
> Much thanks to Grapehyasynth for ~~enabling me~~ beta-reading.

  
 

“Why the hell are you in my shower?” Jemma screeches over the sound of spraying water.

“I tried to fix mine but there was some unforeseen– will you turn around please?” Fitz implores. Both his hands are covering his dignity while the water keeps hitting the back of his neck.

She _should_. She would, if she could only get her body to obey, but her brain has short-circuited when it was unexpectedly presented with a naked Fitz and now refuses to respond appropriately. Instead of averting her eyes, she lets them roam down the expanse of pale skin offered to her view.

He looks so very different now. She’s noticed that before, of course, she would have been blind not to. But she had not realized just _how_ different.

It’s the first time she sees him entirely naked, but the Academy has an Olympic pool and she’s seen him in swim shorts quite a few times. She recognizes the shape of his belly button, the thin line of hair circling around his nipples, and is a little shocked at herself –she had no idea she’d been paying that much attention.

When her eyes travel back up again, they meet his electric blue gaze and the air starts crackling.

It’s difficult to reconcile the man standing naked before her with the boy barely out of childhood she keeps expecting to see when she looks at him. But it’s still Fitz, her beloved Fitz, although his jaw seems squarer now it’s covered with bristle, and his body looks intriguingly fuller.

For a few insane moments, she considers stripping naked and joining him.

“Jemma,” he warns, unamused, “if you don’t leave right now, I’ll barge in when you’re in there and you least expect it.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, and her voice is trembling, not quite conveying the outrage she’s expected to show.

She doesn’t know what to make of the thrill of anticipation brought on by his threat.

***

It isn't until he's confronted with a real, live, _naked_ Jemma Simmons that Fitz understands he's made a terrible miscalculation. Whatever petty revenge he'd hoped to exact by barging in her bathroom becomes entirely meaningless when he's faced with her pale skin glistening with droplets of water.

She lets out a piercing scream of surprise before she pieces things together and take them in stride –that's his Jemma, always the brightest person in the room. One of her hands flies to the apex of her thighs, while the other comes to rest over her chest. The slight press of her arm precariously protecting her modesty only serves to emphasize the swell of her breasts, rather than to withdraw it from view.

The taunting words he has longed to speak all day swiftly die on his lips.

It takes a superhuman effort to keep his eyes on her face, and he's never felt so weak in his life.

While he's frozen and dumbstruck with the sudden realisation that all he's about to achieve is to humiliate himself further, it only takes her a few seconds to devise a strategy.

Something passes in her eyes, something frankly alarming –he knows that look, it usually precedes a rash decision caused by her overwhelming curiosity and her taste for experimentation. This time is no exception.

Jemma tilts her chin up in with defiance –it's subtle, but not so subtle that he doesn't come to dread what happens next– and then she lets her hands gently fall at her sides.

He can tell she's trembling, but there's no knowing if it's from instant regret or nerves or something else.

This time, there's no helping his eyes gliding over her, counting her freckles, memorizing every plane and curve. He wonders what his life is going to be like when he's done committing her to memory. How he’s supposed to function.

If only looking was enough. His lips crave to taste her, to nip at the puckered tips of her breasts and to test the softness of the skin between her thighs.

Though he's been standing still, Fitz is running out of breath, his heart thundering madly from the effort to keep up with her devastating effect on his biology.

_This is not what best friends do._

"Jemma," he pants –it's the only thing he can think to say. If she ordered him to leave now, he would go without a second of hesitation. He's more afraid of what will happen if she doesn't.

Instead, she raises a hand and holds it up in invitation.

They should talk, he knows, but he's so far past all capacity to reason or verbalize.

Fitz takes a hesitant step forward, then another.

He's aware of the stream of water hitting his shoulder, of the way his sogging clothes cling heavily to one side his body.

Everything else is a blur, but her.

***

As Fitz finally steps into her space, Jemma tries to force a smile, but the corner of her lips remain unyieldingly still. His own expression is something between panic and earnestness, without a trace of amusement.

She's never had real qualms about making the first move before, but this might well be the most scandalous thing she has ever done. She's _actually_ standing naked before a man she's not involved with, a man who happens to be her best friend in the world. Not only that, but she's also silently begging him to pin her to the wall and show her what his talented hands can achieve between her legs.

It's equal part thrilling and _completely insane._

Before their lips meet, she has a fleeting fear that it will could turn out utterly catastrophic –bad rhythm, poor technique, or a slight incestuous feel, maybe. But the moment he grabs her bare waist, before her even starts kissing her fervently, she knows it won't be the case. Her hands settle on his cheeks and her head tilts of its own accord.

His kiss comes as a bit of a shock, though. It's so _demanding_ , deep and hot and slightly unhinged. There's no time for sweet, exploratory pecks. It's all liquid heat from the moment they touch.

Jemma's hands reluctantly abandon his stubbled cheeks to pull wildly at his wet shirt, desperate to feel his heat underneath. He's always been so much warmer than she was.

One of his hand creeps up her torso and then his long fingers are tracing the curve of her breasts, drawing a circle around her hardened nipple. He breaks the kiss then, panting slightly, and presses his forehead to hers. He's watching his hands explore her body, she realizes, and her soft groans are echoing his heavier ones.

 _The way he's looking at her._ It's both reverent and ravenous and it's sending electric shocks straight down to her belly. She catches his mouth in another frantic kiss, but he soon evades her again to dip his head lower, until his mouth locks on the tip of her breast.

Her excitement turns to an ache and when she can't take any more, she grabs his hand and slides it down her stomach.

He gasps and pulls his mouth away from her. For an agonizing moment she thinks she's pushed him too far, that he's regaining his senses –God knows there are many solid reasons for them to stop before it goes even further– but he doesn't step away or remove his hands from her.

He just watches her face intently, gauging her reaction. His eyes keep jumping from her eyes to her parted mouth, as his long fingers graze her slit before dipping between her folds.

There's no hiding how ridiculously turn on she is now. She gives an embarrassingly loud cry when he touches her just right and her knees threaten to buckle under her.

"Bedroom?" she asks in a voice she barely recognizes, once she determines her legs won't carry her much longer. He nods faintly, his eyes fixed on his hand working between her legs.

They're both dripping wet but she doesn't want to pause for a second and take the risk of one of them rethinking the situation. She almost laughs as she watches him discard his clothes in a drenched heap on the floor –she's fairly certain she's never seen anyone undress faster– but then Fitz is standing naked and erect and glorious and the humor of their circumstances is entirely lost on her.

The moment he drops on the bed next to her, she pushes him back until he's lying flatly on the bed and wraps her hand around him. His eyes flutter shut for a moment and when they reopen, they're the darkest shade of blue she's ever seen them.

With an arm tucked under his head and his chest heaving for air, he watches her hand move over his shaft with the same air of intense concentration he had before when he was touching her, like he's enthralled by the sight of himself hot and pulsing in her hand.

Minutes later, he gently untucks her fingers from him and flips them over to settle between her thighs.

"Fitz," she moans breathlessly, gulping as his tongue makes contact, "you don't have to–"

"I know but– may I?" he asks, his voice hoarse, and all she can do is nod.

It's the most surreal thing, having Fitz do that to her, to feel his bristled jaw scratch at the skin of her inner thighs. She reaches down and combs through his short curls while his mouth works at stirring her pleasure, and when he looks up to meet her eyes, she almost loses herself right here and then. There's no way that image won't pop up in her head again at the most inappropriate of times, now.

But she doesn't want to come yet, she's determined to hold on to that sense of urgency and desperation for as long as she possibly can. It's an intoxicating feeling, like nothing else exists anymore but the two of them and what they can do to each other.

Fitz looks startled and dazed when she pushes him away, but he doesn't comment when she reaches inside the nightstand, and even lies obligingly still while she rolls the condom down his length. They're both speechless and a little terrified, she realizes, but neither of them is willing to stop the natural course of events.

He settles between her legs again, but this time their faces are aligned and they share a scorching kiss while his hand fumbles between them. His eyes are on her again while he pushes inside her and she gives a sharp cry of relief. She's so worked up from his hands and his mouth that her hips are already buckling desperately, seeking more of him, while he does his best not to give in to the urge to pound madly inside her. It's graceless and crude but it's _him_ and she wouldn't change a thing about it.

Her mouth finds his for a sloppy kiss and when they part, his eyes are imploring her fiercely. She can't help but smile, fondness swelling her heart, and gives him a small nod. There'll be time to do this more artfully later, if they want to. They have ignored many 'almosts' and 'maybes' over the years, but this one won't let itself being written off as a harmless accident.

For now she only ties her legs around his waist, tightens her hold around his frame and enjoys the feel of him. The angle isn't quite right but the friction is just enough, and she feels her climax building high and fast while his hips keep pumping erratically inside her.

She explodes moments before he spills himself inside her, his head buried in her neck and his moans muffled by her shoulder.

As they catch their breath again, her trembling legs fall on either side of him, but she's not in any hurry to let go. This is it, then. It can't be undone now. The most surprising thing about it, really, is how absurdly happy it makes her feel –boneless as she presently is, she'll be up for an encore in a matter of minutes. Or they could just make out for the rest of the day. The lengthening silence, though, is making her feel a tiny bit nervous.

"You okay?" she finally asks, and winces at the worried hesitation she hears in her voice.

"Okay?" he asks from somewhere by her clavicle. She can't see his face or get a good read of him, but he presses a kiss on her skin and she takes it as a good sign. "That would be a bit of an understatement."

The tightness that had settled in her chest suddenly eases. "Really?"

"Really," he says again, raising his head this time. His eyes are soft and his smile lazy. "Just gathering my strength. I need to move."

"Okay." She watches him get to his feet. He keeps his back to her while he disposes of her the condom and it's another memorable sight she knows will come back to haunt her when she most needs to keep her brains. "You'll come back though?"

"Where would I go?" he frowns, and emerges back from the bathroom a minute later with a towel for her hair.

That afternoon, she gets both her wishes –hours of lazy, unhurried kisses, and a couple of very satisfying repeat performances. Fitz claims he can't leave her room for as long as his clothes are wet, and Jemma's not above taking advantage of his flimsy excuse.

She's quite aware that she might never look at him again without picturing the look on his face when she bounces on top of him, which will certainly prove challenging in the lab, but she's too acutely happy to care.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second attempt at PWP, feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Tumblr > chinese-bakery


End file.
